


drown me in daylight

by cartoonheart



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-01-31 10:19:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18589255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartoonheart/pseuds/cartoonheart
Summary: Andrew DeLuca has a secret. Well, two secrets.One, he's in love with Meredith Grey. And two, he doesn't know how or when to tell her and it's eating him alive.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know I should be working on the last chapter of _[rip that map to shreds, my dear](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18239909/chapters/43156505)_ , but I got distracted by this and decided to write it.
> 
> And because I can't seem to write anything short, this is going to be in two parts. One day I will manage to write a straightforward one shot, but today isn't that day. 
> 
> Thank you as ever to the wonderful and awesome [KatieWho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieWho/pseuds/KatieWho), who is a very patient and generous person, as well as a super helpful beta.

Andrew DeLuca has a secret. Well, two secrets.

One, he's in love with Meredith Grey. And two, he doesn't know how or when to tell her and it's eating him alive.

All in all, Andrew knows what he _should_ do. He should be smart and play it safe, because he knows the stories, knows her past, and knows that he could so easily get this wrong. He could so easily ruin the beautiful rhythm they have going. And yeah, he's content. He's probably never been this content, and so he's loathe to rock the boat when it is resting on such calm and happy waters.

But he also knows himself. Knows he's not to be trusted with these sort of things. Because there have been times lately when he's almost just blurted it out at inopportune moments - when she's staring intently at a set of x-rays, or she's tying Ellis' shoe laces. The words bubble up in his throat and sit on the back of his tongue, and he has to swallow them down again before they tumble out of his mouth. 

One of these days he won't be so lucky, he won't have the self control, and then where will he be? Left out in the cold by the woman who has turned his world upside down, probably. He wants to have more faith, but he can also see the weight of her guilt sometimes when she looks at him - like she feels bad for letting him in as far as she has. Andrew's not blind. He sees he makes her happy, and on its own, that's thrilling. But there are moments when she's far away, and he knows he isn't the man on her mind. He tries not to feel upset about that, because there's no point being in competition with the dead. And it's something that is out of his hands anyway, as much as he'd like to think he has some control here.

The reality is that maybe even the how or when of telling her is irrelevant. He knows the truth, and shouldn't that be enough? He's coming to realise that even if she ends things with him tomorrow, god forbid, he'll still always love her, no matter what comes after. Because she's made him see what he could be, what capacity for love he has.

And that's everything.

\---

He's only ever said 'I love you' to one other girl in his life, and that was Sam. He'd meant it at the time, because he thought he knew what love was - in that moment, and perhaps if that's all he had ever had the chance to experience in his short time on earth, he would've been okay thinking that was the sum total of the feeling.

But then there was Meredith Grey, and she was not a girl. She was a woman in every sense of the word, and it still humbled him every day that he could have even some slight impact on her. And yet there he was, being allowed to kiss her, and hold her, and feel her skin against his in the depths of the night. The fact that she feels the need to reach out, to seek the same experience from him, is some sort of cosmic joke that he feels he still hasn't figured out the punchline to. He is constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

So as much as he has a confession to make, this isn't about just him. His need to unburden himself is selfish, even if his intentions are good. Andrew wants to give love, and share love, and for him, that's Meredith - it has been more and more until it's gotten to this point where it's in every motion, every look, and he thinks she surely must know it even if he never says it. But words have power, and these are the most powerful of all. So he's going to have to figure this out on his own.

\---

He thinks about talking to Carina about it. It's not the sort of thing he'd usually share with his sister, but it's getting harder and harder to keep his secret, and perhaps in sharing his thoughts with her, it might buy him some time.

But Carina is also a very different person to him, sees the world differently. She acts before thinking, and deals with the consequences later. She also sees no point in bottling things up, so he knows what advice he's likely to hear. 

And on some level, he thinks she could have a point. Being in love with someone shouldn't be some shameful secret, shouldn't be something he has to hide and push down inside until he feels ready to explode. 

But this is Meredith, and although he can't say he knows everything there is to know about her - not even close - he does know that even just dating him was no easy decision for her. She'd been scared all those months ago, and he'd been impatient, and as a result he'd almost lost her. He doesn't want to make the same mistake here.

When he said she amazed him, he meant it - and still means it. She constantly astounds him. Every inch she gives, he grasps gratefully because with her it's not just an inch, but the slow opening on her life and her heart to him. But Meredith's a widow, with a great love behind her, and three wonderful kids. Love is not a simple concept to her. It's layered with joy and heartbreak and somewhere in the mix there's Andrew, and he just wants to be with her and near her, and make her smile. 

He decides not to tell Carina in the end. Because he knows what she'll say and it won't leave him in a position with any more answers than he has now. And he's not sure he wants to see the look of pity on her face - for her little brother who is scared to say three small words even though his actions have been speaking them more loudly for a long time now.

\---

He cooks everyone dinner, because the kids love it when he does, and he loves their enthusiasm for even the most basic of meals. Meredith always looks over at him gratefully regardless of what he serves up, because he knows she hates to cook - and more truthfully, as he's learnt firsthand, is terrible at it. 

It feels so domestic, watching everyone eat, with Bailey chatting away, and Meredith smiling indulgently at everyone around the table. He feels like he's part of things, and although it took him a while to get here, it's basically the favourite part of his week nowadays. 

Meredith puts the kids to bed while he does the dishes, and when he's done he looks around at the minutiae of her life. Her house is always organised chaos, and yet it feels homely - far more than his neat and tidy apartment. He likes the plethora of toys that are always scattered around, complimented by a stack of medical journals, and Meredith's own untidy handwriting on random pieces of paper. There are photographs everywhere - mostly of the children when they are younger, but there are some of Meredith too, and Andrew particularly likes to look at these when he has a spare moment.

Andrew knows what Derek looks like - would be able to easily pick him in a line up of thousands of men, which is quite an accomplishment for a person that Andrew never met. He couldn't say he knows how Derek would talk or how he would move, but he knows the man by sight, and it's enough to set the wheels in his brain turning. It's not like the house is a shrine to Meredith's dead husband - it's really not. But there are unexpected reminders around every corner, and on some days, Andrew feels like he's treading on ghosts just by being here. 

He knows he doesn't compare. He can't possibly compare to a man who was taken before his time. And Andrew tries hard not to fall down the rabbit hole as to whether there's something inside him that reminds her of Derek, because that way madness lies. He doesn't feel like a replacement, and she's certainly never treated him as one, but sometimes Andrew's not above falling into a cycle of insecurity when he should know better. That said, he knows better than to let that show, and eventually the feeling does retreat - usually when she wraps her arms around him and fits herself into his embrace like she was designed to be there. 

The reality is that Meredith is the love of Andrew's life. When he boils down everything into its very essence, she is the be all and end all for him, and that doesn't scare him at all. In fact, it invigorates him, makes his blood run red hot.

The only thing that does scare him is the fact that he might not get the chance to tell her.

\---

Three months, he tells himself. He decides to set the idea aside for three months. It's an arbitrary amount of time, and he's not sure why he picked it, truth be told. But it feels long enough to take the pressure off, and yet short enough so that if it doesn't, he won't go crazy in the meanwhile.

It's not as easy to set aside the idea as he had hoped. Because he's got no doubt in his mind that he loves her, and it feels unnatural of him not to just tell her, because at this point, he tells her pretty much everything. She indulges his mindless rambling, although he can also tell that it bewilders her sometimes. But she just smiles good naturedly when he realises he's been talking nonstop for twenty minutes, and pats him on the hand reassuringly.

So yeah, he sets it aside. He's definitely _not_ thinking about telling her. Not when she's hunched over her paperwork at the dining table, brow furrowed in concentration as he makes her a morning cup of coffee. He's definitely not thinking about it as she slides into her bathtub with him, her skin slippery against his own. He puts it out of his mind when he watches her across the operating table, her brilliant hands precise and miraculous, saving and healing and teaching him all at the same time. He ignores it when she's carefully braiding Ellis' hair, or playing trains with Bailey, or helping Zola with her homework. He definitely doesn't even dwell on it when she's above him in the early hours, her hair tickling his bare chest, his hands running up her naked back.

Andrew's never been very good at lying to himself.

Three months pass both quickly and slowly.

\---

Eventually he decides it's time. 

And as much as he wants to make it special, Andrew also doesn't want to set himself up for a fall - for him to make a big song and dance about his revelation. Telling someone you love them shouldn't be a production, he thinks. It should be real and in the moment, and not as a result of a dozen roses, or a fancy meal, or some sort of proclaimed occasion.

Because Andrew loves her in all the small moments, as well as the big ones, and so he's decided that the next time the thought, the urge, the confession, presents itself to him, he will just say the words, and damn it all to hell. It might backfire on him, because Meredith's heart may forever be claimed by a man who Andrew can't compete with. Maybe it's encased in iron, and so Andrew's only hope is that he can erode it slowly over time. But he's tired of swallowing it all down, and so caution is going to be thrown to the wind.

At least then she'll know. 

One day he comes home (because her home is now his home, or at least, he's never at his place anymore and when he is it feels like somewhere a stranger lives), and she's curled up on one side of the couch, a blanket tucked across her knees, looking forlorn and lost. 

"Tough day?" he asks, toeing off his shoes, and sitting gingerly down next to her. She glances over, then looks away, her expression blank. She doesn't lean into him like usual, and it immediately causes him concern.

"Just..." she starts, before looking down at her hands in her lap. She's twisting a balled up tissue between her fingers. Her eyes seem dry, but he can see that they're still red and bloodshot, and he feels his chest clench. "It's nothing, don't worry."

He doesn't want to push, but at the same time, he's uneasy because Meredith's not one for this sort of behaviour usually. "Is it one of the kids? Are they okay?" He turns his body to face her, his knee pressing against hers. He wants to reach out and grab her hand, but something tells him not to.

Her eyes slide back to his, and soften a fraction. "No, Andrew. They're fine. It's just... it's been a day."

His arm stretches out along the back of the couch, an indicator that she can curl into him if she wants. But she doesn't. He's getting increasingly worried, but tries to stay calm.

"Want to talk about it?" His teeth are aching from the clench of his jaw, the tension that seems to be coursing through him. 

She sighs and opens her mouth, but before she can speak, Andrew hears the front door open and a rush of footsteps. He's become used to the way his girlfriend's house seems to have an open door policy to all in sundry, and for the most part, he's fine with it. Although it is strange sometimes to arrive and find a collection of other people who also don't live here, clustered around the table. But at this moment in time, the interuption feels intrusive and unwanted.

"Hey," Amelia appears in the doorway, seemingly unsurprised at the scene in front of her. Her eyes quickly slide from Andrew to Meredith, and then back to him again, trying to communicate something he can't quite read. He clearly fails the test, so eventually she just stares at him pointedly. "DeLuca. Scram."

He frowns. He's not sure he likes being dismissed like this, by Amelia no less. They aren't at work now, he isn't her subordinate. That said, recently he's been becoming increasingly aware of his place in the hierarchy of Meredith's life. He knows that Meredith has her people, and while he's now one of them, he doesn't get to pick and choose when he'll be called on. Today it is clearly Amelia's turn. 

He glances over at Meredith, and she gives him a nod of reassurance. He still doesn't know what's wrong or what she needs, but it relieves the pressure in his chest enough. He leans over, presses a quick kiss to her temple, before pulling himself up off the couch. "I'll be upstairs if you need me," he says quietly to them both and Amelia smiles tightly. 

"Thanks Andrew."

\---

He falls asleep in Meredith's bed, and when he wakes up it is the early hours of the morning, and she's still not there. The bed feels empty and unfamiliar without her.

He creeps downstairs, bare feet practiced against the creaky floorboards. The house is silent, so he's surprised when he reaches the living room and sees Amelia still awake on the couch, with Meredith's head in her lap. She's softly stroking her hair, but otherwise she's motionless in the harsh moonlight streaming through the windows.

She looks up as Andrew approaches, raises a finger to her lips. "She's asleep," Amelia whispers, and the words sound loud in the quiet of the house. Andrew squints into the darkness, and sees Meredith's eyes closed tightly in slumber.

"Is she okay?" he whispers back, because he may never get to hear it from Meredith, and he can't pretend he hadn't been turning it over and over in his brain before sleep had finally hit him.

Amelia sighs and looks fondly down at her sister-in-law, then back up at him. "It's Derek's birthday today. _Was_ his birthday," she corrects, and Andrew can hear the twist in her voice, the hitch at the use of the past tense. 

He's not sure what to say, because he knows from experience there's very little comfort that can be given in these sorts of situations. His mother's birthday hits him the same each year. The same splintering pain of her loss and continued absence. It never quite seems to alleviate or ease, and he knows he'll never ever forget.

He can see the heaviness in Amelia's expression too, and Andrew now knows why she was the right person for Meredith today, and why he couldn't be. Derek was a lucky man to have been loved so much, and as much as it hurts Andrew to see the impact of his loss, it is completely understandable in the circumstances. 

"I can carry her upstairs, if you want to get some sleep," he offers, because it is late, and Amelia looks tired. The shadows forming under her eyes aren't just from the day or the way the sliver of light in the room hits her face. 

Amelia smiles softly at him, kindly. "You're a good guy, Andrew. But it's okay. I'll stay down here with her tonight, I think."

He can tell from her words that perhaps Meredith's presence is what Amelia needs too. For them both to be together in their sadness, if only for tonight. They may not be sisters by blood but they are as close as any sisters can be, and he's glad that Meredith has that in her life after all that she's been through. A few months ago, perhaps, he would've felt hurt at being left out, at being made to feel surplus to requirements. But he's learnt quickly that what Meredith needs won't always be from him and that isn't a slight. It's just her way. 

"Sure," he replies. "Do you need anything?"

The brunette shakes her head. "No, thanks. I'll be fine."

He knows she will be, and that Meredith will be too. But it is also a clear and blunt reminder that she'll never quite be whole, never quite think of love as some unbroken thing. Love, to her, will always be fragmented into pieces, between wonder and hurt and pain and brilliance. Andrew's not naive enough to think that love isn't like that for everyone sometimes. That's been his experience too. But Meredith's love has been lived in extremes, has seen the very best and very worst of it all. He knows that has made her strong in some ways, weak in others.

Andrew can't say he knows what it's like to have lost something in the way that she has. He's lost people, of course. He's lost his mother. Sam. Even his father, to an extent, even though he's still alive. But Meredith's loss is brutal and constant, if only for the reminders that never leave her every day. Her children. Amelia. The hospital. 

Andrew knows he's lucky that Meredith has let him into her life to the point that she has. But only now is Andrew realising that he's a reminder too - in his own way. The fact that he is in Meredith's life is a direct result of Derek's absence. And while he's always known that deep down, the surfacing reality of it is raw and hits too close to home.

Because Andrew's been fine with the idea that Meredith Grey is the love of his life. But it never crossed his mind, even though it should have, that, whatever the situation, he'll never be the love of hers. 

The question is whether he can live with that.

\---

He goes to see her in the lab during his lunch break. The cloud that had hung over her earlier that week seems to have lifted, and she's smiling and lighter and he's happy for it. There's still a niggle in the back of his mind, replaying over and over like something from a nightmare he'd rather forget. It's been just enough to throw him and just enough for her to notice.

"Everything okay?" she remarks, as she accepts the coffee he holds out for her. It's become their thing, and Andrew's still amazed that they've fallen into a rhythm, that they've become the sort of couple who have formed habits with each other, however small. "You've been distracted these last few days."

They've not spoken about that evening, and Andrew's at a point where he's not sure he can ask any more. Things have moved on, and he doesn't want to rattle at any residual sadness that may still linger for her. 

She's right in the fact that he has been distracted. He's been mulling over everything, and where that leaves him. Andrew knows that they are happy. Extremely happy. And that things between them are good and right. But where he had been so prepared to say something to her, so ready and eager to blurt out his confession of love, he now feels like he's back at square one. After all, he's always the impatient one, always challenging her boundaries, and while sometimes that was good, he's realising that this thing - this desire he has to share where he's at - isn't one that he can push her on. 

What he is feeling is resignation. And it's left him feeling a little flat, if he's honest. Not enough to make him doubt anything, or his life with her, because he's confident that there's nothing on earth that could make him doubt that. But enough to leave him feeling a little down. 

He's decided to shelve the idea of telling her he loves her - at least for a good while - until he feels more solid ground beneath him. And it's okay - he can live with that. The decision to set all that aside does feel like a weight has been lifted off of him, even if the feelings that were driving it remain as bold and as fresh as ever. But that? That part he can handle, now that he knows it's for the greater good - a sacrifice he can easily make. So instead he'll just focus on making her happy and that's something he knows is in his control.

"I'm fine," he responds, and he thinks he does mean it. There's no bad taste in his mouth. Nevertheless, he changes the subject. "What do you want to do for dinner tonight?"

She smiles broadly at him, eyes creasing in the corners in the way that he adores. "Are you cooking?"

He instinctively grins back, raises an eyebrow. "Don't I always?"

Meredith rolls her eyes good-naturedly, and she traces her finger around the lid of her coffee cup. "Don't rub it in. The kids will probably want pizza, if you're cooking."

He nods, already mentally running through the ingredients he'll need to buy on his way home. He knows the contents of her cupboards almost as well as the back of his own hand. His own fridge looks a little sadder these days due to the lack of time he spends at his place. "Okay. I can do that. What time will you be finished?"

She bites her bottom lip, and his mind drifts to her mouth, then quickly tries to regain focus. He's still so stupidly attracted to her, and even though they are at work and they have rules, it's hard to stop himself leaning towards her.

"I'm not sure," she answers eventually, her nose scrunching up with thought. "I want to get this finished, but I'm stuck. I just can't seem to..." her words drift off and he can see her attention is now sliding back into her work, and it's just one of the many things he admires about her. Her mind is so quick and brilliant and he's sometimes left scrambling in her wake.

He circles behind her so he can look over her shoulder at what she's working on. They've discussed it before, and although he's more of a sounding board at this point, he can see that her thought process on paper has hit a road block. 

"It's frustrating," she's saying, as his eyes scan over her scrawl of handwriting and calculations. "There's a solution somewhere, but I can't seem to quite grasp it. I can't get this part from A to B. I need the link."

He can see it's a a minor component of her bigger idea, but it's clearly enough to have hindered her progress for now. 

He doesn't assume to ever give her suggestions, and even if he could keep up, he knows his place. But Andrew also knows that part of the reason she tells him about it all is because he has the knack of asking her the right questions in order to get her brain to unlock.

They spend a few minutes chatting about it, and the hand that he's placed on the back of her chair moves slowly onto the slope of her shoulder, then upwards to the curve of her neck. He hardly knows he's doing it, because touching her is so natural to him at this stage, and he's not as good as her at sticking to the rules. For once, she lets him, hears her sigh as his thumb grazes down the nape of her neck underneath her ponytail. Her shoulders seem to relax into his touch, and from his position he can see that her eyes have flickered closed, that she's breathing deeply, peacefully.

He desperately wants to kiss her, even though he knows that will be a step too far. Because the sort of kiss that is on his mind isn't one that is even near appropriate for the workplace. Besides, he can tell her mind is still ticking over, despite how it seems. He's learnt to recognise these slight and imperceptible moods, and so he continues to read over her work in the meanwhile.

Suddenly her eyes burst open, and she sits upright in her chair. 

"I think-" she starts, before picking up the nearest pen and starting to write. 

He follows her notes on the page. "Isn't that-?"

"Yes!" she exclaims excitedly, reaching out to shuffle through a pile of papers on her desk, clearly looking for something in particular. "But I'm not sure how that part works in practice. There are tests that would need to be run. I'd need-"

Andrew frowns, before connecting the dots too. "Doesn't Dr. Bailey have one of those in her lab?"

Her head whips around, eyes wide. "She does?"

He's a little amused at her intensity, but loves it all the same. "Yeah, it only just arrived. She insisted on showing me and the other residents. It's pretty cool. But it's only on loan from Johns Hopkins for... like, a week?"

Meredith leaps to her feet, her chair rolling back and crashing into his foot. She grabs his arm in apology. "That'll be enough time to run some simulations, see if this is viable. Andrew, thank you! I'm going to-". She doesn't finish her thought because she's busy pulling papers into her arms, grabbing her laptop. 

He smiles, watching the haste of her movements, the way she's practically twitching with excitement. She's in another league to every other surgeon he knows, and he'd be saying that even if he wasn't inherently bias. He grabs his coffee cup from the desk to save it from being knocked over as she scrambles to gather her things.

"Glad I could help," he laughs, and in that moment she pauses and turns to look at him, her grin wide enough to almost split her face. He can't help but beam at her in return. 

" _Seriously_ , Andrew. You're a lifesaver! I wouldn't have known otherwise." She takes a few steps to leave and then turns back, presses a kiss to his cheek and smiles again, almost bouncing on her heels. "I've _got_ to go find Bailey. I love you. I'll see you for dinner tonight."

Without even a backward glance, she's gone before he can say another word, the door swinging in her wake. 

He stares after her in shock, his brain sparking in confusion. He's frozen, like a computer that's been asked to process too much information all at once. Because did he really just hear what he thinks he heard? Did she just say she _loves_ him? 

Andrew's pretty sure his heart has also stopped, because this isn't what he'd expected. This hadn't even been on his radar as a possibility.

But it had been so throw away, said in such haste, that he can't help but hesitate. 

Because yes, Meredith Grey had just told him that she loved him. But he's struggling to find a way to correlate the casualness of her words with the depth of such a sentiment - especially in light of the utter everyday-ness of the circumstances. Andrew knows a slip of the tongue when he hears one, and the last thing he wants is to get his hopes up over something that she might not have even meant, or even noticed she'd said.

He takes a shaky breath, and sits down on the chair she's just vacated. 

Andrew DeLuca has some thinking to do.

\---

part 2 coming soon


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew DeLuca has a secret. Well, two secrets.
> 
> One, Meredith Grey has just told him she loves him. And two, he's in an absolute panic about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I'm so sorry it took me so long to write this part. My promise of "part 2 coming soon" was dreadfully untrue. But thank you for sticking with me (if you have). Unfortunately the last part of [rip that map to shreds. my dear](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18239909/chapters/43156505) took priority and it was quite labour intensive. But as of now, I've officially completed all my multi-chapter fics! So I'll be working on prompts, and I have my next multi-chapter in my brain, it just needs to be started. Stay tuned.
> 
> Secondly, this kind of both did and didn't go where I thought it would. But that's pretty normal for me.
> 
> Thirdly, thanks (as ever) to [KatieWho](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18239909/chapters/43156505) who is the world's most speedy beta and for taking the time out of her day to help me! It means more than I can really say.
> 
> EDIT: There was a problem with the original upload in that it cut out a chunk of text in the middle of the fic for some reason. Thankfully this was kindly pointed out to me and has now been fixed, so apologies to those who read that version. It should all read properly now!

Andrew DeLuca has a secret. Well, two secrets.

One, Meredith Grey has just told him she loves him. And two, he's in an absolute panic about it.

Andrew can't lie. He can't pretend that he hasn't imagined the scenario of him confessing his love for her a million times. He's considered every single outcome, good and bad, terrible and jubilant. 

But in all those scenarios, he never once thought that she would be the one to say it first. Maybe that was naive or stupid of him - potentially even self-obsessed - but it's the absolute truth. It was always him saying those words, anxiously awaiting her reaction. 

Now, his first thought wants to be that maybe he underestimated her. Maybe he'd been unfair when he thought that she was going to shy away from everything their relationship was and her feelings about him. Perhaps he had placed too much value in the damage her past had wrought, of all that she had suffered.

But no, he knows he hasn't. Andrew would like to think he _knows_ her by now. He knows that her losses, her traumas, were every bit a part of her, and every bit a part of what made her gun shy when it came to opening up to people. Andrew had seen it first hand - not just this week, on her living room couch with Amelia - but in the way she'd tried to run from him all that time ago, how she had come up with excuse after excuse, each one as flimsy and half-hearted as the last. It had almost ended him, all those months of chasing and of hitting the walls that she'd built up around herself. He'd grown hurt and frustrated until he'd realised he needed to get over himself, and go down fighting if he had to. 

So, it means there is only one plausible reason for what has happened, for why those words had come out of her mouth. 

It had been a slip of the tongue, and nothing more. Even now, even as he imagines her on her way to Bailey's lab, he senses that Meredith doesn't even realise what she's done, hasn't even realised what has tripped off her tongue. She can't know that she's walked away and left him in such a tailspin that he can barely think straight.

His hands clench tightly around his coffee cup. He knows the liquid inside will be lukewarm by now. He's been sitting here, in her lab, for fifteen minutes, staring into space. And he's no closer to understanding any of it.

A part of his brain is trying to reassure him. After all, even if she hadn't meant to say the words, it doesn't mean that she doesn't _feel_ them, right? Andrew learnt enough from his medical school psychology class to know that the subconscious works in strange and mysterious ways. 

But even if that were true, it doesn't feel right to him. He wants to be an active choice she's made, not something smothered down in the darkest corners of her brilliant brain. Perhaps that's big-headed of him, to think that he's worth at least that, but really, what can he say? He's at a complete loss here.

He's got to get back to work. That's actually what _has_ to happen right now. His job doesn't stop just because Meredith Grey has upturned his life in three small words. He can't sit here all day in a romantic quandary and forget that he has patients to treat and things to do. He's an adult. He needs to face this head on. So really, isn't the simplest solution that he just talk to her? 

Yes, he thinks, with an assertiveness that he draws from deep within. That's what he'll do.

\---

He doesn't do that.

Instead, like a coward, he avoids her. 

It's pathetic, and he doesn't like himself for it. It goes against his nature, because he's not usually one to avoid his problems. 

On normal days, he's always watchful for her presence. Andrew likes to know where she is in relation to him in a crowded room, even if they can't speak. And so it feels uncharacteristic of him to turn the corner when he sees her coming, or to duck into a patient's room when he notices her hovering at the nurses station. He steers clear of her and Bailey's labs completely, just in case she's nearby. It doesn't feel right, and yet he doesn't think he has the strength for anything else right now.

The good news is that he doesn't think she's realised he's avoiding her. And that should buy him some time to get over it, he thinks, instead of running away like a scared little kid. He'd accused her of that once, something he still can't recall without deep shame, and now it seems the shoe is on the other foot. It's not a nice feeling.

But really, all he needs is to just survive this shift, and go home. He wants to sit on his couch, with a beer, and figure out how to handle this whole damn thing.

\---

A few hours later that's exactly what he's doing. Andrew wishes he could say it's helping, wishes he could say he's finding the solution at the bottom of his beer bottle, but if anything, it's just making him more and more confused.

His brain has been going to all sorts of dark places, places he never thought possible, and places he wished didn't exist. And he's furious with himself. He's furious that he's taken this thing - this tiny event - and blown it way out of proportion in his mind, to an extent where he can't see the wood for the trees.

Because instead of just taking it for what he genuinely thinks it is - an innocent misunderstanding, an unintended slip of the tongue - he's turned it into an exercise of self-doubt and, even worse, a complete and utter dismantling of their entire relationship.

Those three little words are supposed to elicit such joy and happiness. But instead, all Andrew can do is think of Derek Shepherd. A man he's never met, and will never meet, and yet seems to hang over him like a spectre. Because that's it, isn't it? She's merged him into the man she's lost, the only man that she's ever said those words too. 

Because he can imagine it so well. The supportive husband, the adoring wife. They bond and talk over medical research and marvellous big ideas, because they are both equally brilliant and accomplished. And in that moment, in that tiny moment, Andrew's not the one in that laboratory with her - not really. He's just the substitute for her dead husband, the man she'd probably said those words to thousands of times, over the course of years and years. It's one of those perfunctory things that husbands and wives do when they say goodbye, without even thinking, like an inbuilt reflex, like the sun rising in the morning. 

And so right then, those words were intended for another man, perhaps. Andrew knows that Derek has been on her mind this week. He's realised that memories of that man, the fresh reminder of the loss of him, can still make even the strong Meredith Grey fall to her knees.

Andrew knows he's being ridiculous. Mostly. But after today, all the plans he had and all the ways he'd considered telling her he loves her, have just crumbled to dust before his eyes, and perhaps it is that which is upsetting him too. 

He doesn't want to be an afterthought. He doesn't want to be second best. But he can't do anything about that. And he has to get over it. He's _got_ to.

His phone vibrates against the hard surface of his coffee table. It's face down, but he knows it's her before he even turns it over. 

_Are we still on for dinner?_

Oh, _shit_ , he curses inwardly, as the realisation courses through him. He was supposed to make dinner with her and the kids tonight. In his complete state of panic, he's forgotten.

He thinks she's probably at home now, wondering where he is. He imagines her children, having been promised pizza, waiting impatiently, circling the kitchen. He hates to let them down.

But he's three beers in, and he can't ride his motorcycle, and if he's really honest, he can't face her. It's terrible and cowardly, and he's never felt more wretched in his life about it, but it's the honest truth. Andrew's not sure how he can stand there in her house, surrounded by all that happiness and contentedness, and have to pretend he's okay - pretend that her careless words haven't shaken the very foundations of the relationship that he's so deeply invested in. 

He takes a deep breath before sending his reply.

_I'm so sorry - Carina's asked me to help her with something urgently. How about I make it up to you and the kids tomorrow night?_

Andrew hates to lie to her. As a rule, he doesn't. He's never wanted or felt the need to. But this feels safer. He just needs a minute. It feels odd that he can't tell her why - he promised he'd never do this again to her, after what happened with his father - but in this case, it feels too difficult to tell the woman he loves that _her_ confession of love, the one she doesn't realise she's even made, has completed wrecked him.

So yes, he needs a minute. 

But only one minute, because he won't be that guy. And after that, he'll know what to do.

\---

Andrew keeps his promise. He's on her doorstep the following evening, armed with a bag of groceries. He feels wave after wave of anxiety curl in his stomach, like he's completely at sea.

Yesterday she had accepted his excuse blindly, and with good grace. If she'd realised her mistake, he thinks he'd be able to sense it, that there would be some hint of it in the way she responded to his message. But he doesn't think so - and it had only further cemented Andrew's theory that she has no idea what she'd said - what sort of tidal wave she'd caused in the usually calm waters of his life. He's been getting so used to things being a certain way, even if that sounds boring and contrite. He's not one hundred years old yet, but he's loved having such a settled pattern dictating his days, the result of being in her orbit and life. 

The nanny lets him in, and he realises that Meredith can't be home yet. He waits for his anxiousness to subside, but if anything, the longer wait to be confronted with her makes him feel even more on edge. 

He walks himself through the house, something he's done so many times now, and yet it all feels different for some reason. Bailey and Ellis are playing in the living room and glance up as he goes by. Zola is sitting at the kitchen table, concentrating deeply on her homework. He says goodbye to the nanny - Meredith had told her months ago that she doesn't need to stay when he's there - and he slowly unpacks the food in the kitchen.

One by one the kids greet him happily. Bailey tells him about his soccer game, and Ellis shyly requests a drink, and then hugs his leg before running off. Zola has a question about her math homework. It's all normal. He's part of the furniture by now, is given no special treatment by them anymore, not like the first few weeks when they were quietly curious about every aspect of his life. 

He potters around, makes himself a coffee, and starts to prepare the food. He feels like there's an invisible countdown hovering over him, waiting for the moment when she walks through the door, except he doesn't know when the numbers will hit zero and so he has no sense of when he needs to start steeling himself.

This isn't the right reaction to have to his girlfriend coming home from work, he knows. Although that's not to say that in the early days, being in her proximity hadn't made him as nervous as hell at times. He thinks of the occasion when he led her up to the roof of the hospital. She'd looked so beautiful, and yet so poised and collected, even as he took her hand in the hospital corridor. He knew he was taking a big risk, and yet all he could do was hope that it wasn't going to backfire on him spectacularly.

That was some time ago now, even though he can remember every detail with astounding clarity. It had been one of the most important moments of his life, taking that leap with her. And yet now, _now_ , he's racked with an inner monologue that insists on taunting him. It keeps telling him that he's kidding himself to think that she'll ever love him - not in the way he wants her to. That the best he can ever hope for is a throw-away comment that had meant so little to her that she hadn't even realised she'd done it. 

He hears a car pull up, and knows it's her. He calls to the kids, asks them to come help him with the food. It's the part they enjoy most anyway, deciding what to put on the pizzas before he slides them into the oven to cook. Andrew knows, in part, that he's using them a bit like a shield, and he tries to smother the guilt he feels about that. But he knows they'll be enough of a barrier and a distraction to ease him into this situation and convince himself that he's made a fuss over nothing.

There's a slam of the front door, and a series of footsteps. A figure appears in front of him. It's Amelia.

"Hey kids!" She smiles, and they all beam at her. Meredith appears at her side a moment later. Her eyes find his instantly, and he feels his heart momentarily constrict, stop.

"Hey," she says, eyes crinkling at him. Everything about her seems normal, like she's sensed nothing weird is going on, and for that, at least, he's relieved. "Is there enough food for Amelia too?"

Andrew has learnt from experience to always make twice as much as they need, if only to anticipate random house guests, one or both of Meredith's sisters, or at least, plenty of leftovers. He nods, tries to smile but he's not sure how convincing it is. "Sure," he croaks out, before clearing his throat and trying again. "Yes, there's more than enough food."

"Great!" Amelia cheers, before leaning over to help the children pile ingredients on the pizza bases he has prepared. In the general hustle, he's hardly noticed that Meredith's approached him, has settled by his side, and her hand coming to rest on his forearm.

"How was your day?" she questions, as he feels the warmth of her body align itself next to him, and despite all that has been haunting him the last twenty-four hours, he feels his body ache for hers. He wants to take her in his arms, kiss her senseless, like in doing so, it might block out all of the worries and doubts that he's been churning over in his mind. He won't, of course, not in front of the kids, but at least it's something for him to cling to.

She's still awaiting his reply. He feels her gaze searching for his, but he remains focused on the task in front of him, chopping herbs, rather than looking over at her.

"It was fine," he answers, hoping there's nothing in his voice to betray him. Because if she doesn't remember what she said, then really, he thinks, is there anything more to be done? It's the easy way out, he accepts. It would be torture for him to bottle it up, but maybe it is the best course of action. But he also knows himself - he knows it may all come out some way or somehow eventually. Maybe not now, but soon enough, probably at an inopportune moment. 

But for now, while they aren't alone, he'll do the best he can. 

He's not sure if she senses anything off about him. But if she does, she's hiding it well. 

"I scrubbed in on Webber's ventral hernia repair," he adds, so as to not leave the conversation hanging. He grabs a bowl from the cupboard and throws the herbs in before half turning and sliding them onto the counter for the kids to use. "How was your day?"

Her hand traces down his arm, her fingers sliding around his wrist, across his pulse point and he wonders if she can tell just how fast his heart is beating. But it's a clear enough sign that she wants him to stop what he's doing and focus on her, and there's no way he can resist.

Andrew finally turns to look at her. Her hair is down, streaming over her shoulders, and the top button of her blouse has come undone and so he sees a sliver more skin at her neckline than he usually does in daylight hours. It's such a tiny thing, the smallest of anomalies, and if he could scarcely breathe before, it's getting even harder to do so now. 

It's also becoming increasingly obvious how stupid he's been, and perhaps this is what he needed all along. Rather than avoiding her, he needed to just be with her - to be reminded of how lucky he is, and how none of the other stuff really matters. He's been too in his head about it, had let the week - the Derek stuff - take him over, when actually, he should just be grateful for what he has. Clearly Meredith's not the only one with a habit of self-sabotage, he thinks. 

"I've been in the lab most of the day," she replies. The mention of the laboratory causes him to freeze a little, but he's quick to let it roll off of him. Now isn't the time. "And Bailey's letting me use hers tomorrow to run the simulations I planned."

A genuine smile bursts from him. "That's _great_ , Mere. I'm so pleased."

She shines back at him, all golden light and green eyes. "Me too. I really think it'll get me the results I need."

"I'm sure it will," he responds, and moves to quickly squeeze her hand in his own. All this talk about her research, her work, while pleasing to him, is also treading a little too close to the events of yesterday that he's trying very hard to set aside right now. So he changes the subject. 

"Hey kids, who's ready to put their pizza in the oven?"

\---

A sort of peace manages to settle over him during dinner. It's balanced on a knife edge, he knows, and it's probably making him a little quieter than usual, but given Amelia's constant chatter, he doesn't think it's noticeable. 

After they finish eating, he washes the dishes as Meredith puts the children to bed. He's so lost in his thoughts that he hardly notices when Amelia sidles up to him.

"I wanted to say thank you," she says out the blue, leaning her back against the counter next to him and fixing her bright eyes on his. He must look confused for a second. "For the other night," she adds. "With Meredith."

He's not sure what to say, so goes with "Ahh." He's also not really sure whether he wants to talk about this right now. He feels the ghost of Derek Shepherd looming over him again. He wonders whether Amelia feels like that sometimes too.

"Has she spoken to you about it?"

Andrew wasn't prepared for this to be a conversation, but he also knows from experience that Amelia's like a dog with a bone and when she wants to talk about something, it's going to happen whether he wants it to or not. 

But here, only a simple answer is needed. "No." It's a bit blunt, but it's the truth. He stares back down at the soap suds in the sink in front of him, and wills Amelia to make her point and quickly.

"I know it must have been weird for you. But she just needed time, and you knew to give that to her, to us." There's a small catch in Amelia's throat, and Andrew keeps his focus on washing the dishes, just in order not to look over and catch her in a vulnerable moment. 

He clears his throat, manages a gruff reply. "You're welcome."

"Andrew, can I say something?"

The fact that she's calling him Andrew instead of DeLuca isn't lost on him. She only calls him that when she's being serious, letting her guard down a bit more than usual. And so he glances over and gives her a look, raises an eyebrow. "Would I be able to stop you even if I wanted to?"

Amelia gives him a level glare, before launching into what was clearly the main thing on her mind. "Trust me, Andrew. I know what it's like to be in a relationship with a third person always over your shoulder." She's referring to Derek, of course, but Andrew doesn't need to be a genius to know she's also thinking of Owen, of Teddy, of that whole mess of a situation. "And I know what it's like to feel like you are always going to be in second place."

It's like she knows how to kick him when he's down, because if nothing else, Andrew feels a coiling lurch of nausea roll up inside of him and he has to steady himself against the counter. It's that movement that finally gets Amelia to take notice of the injured look that is no doubt plastered all over his face.

"No, no, Andrew. That's _not_ what I meant. God, I'm such an _idiot_. I mean, this _isn't_ the situation here, okay? With you and her. I want to let you know that, just in case you were concerned. God, this isn't even any of my business. But the other night, that's... not normal for her - you know that, right? Sometimes, she... she has a moment. We all do. But it doesn't mean that you're not so important here. I mean, it's just... it's just..." Amelia's flustered, and even out of the corner of his eye, Andrew can tell her face is starting to go red. "It's just... she loves you, okay? So you don't need to worry."

He's never felt his muscles tense so quickly. His neck twists to look at her so fast he may have wrenched it. He's speaking before he can stop himself. "Loves me? What? Why? What have you heard?" No doubt his reaction is weird, he realises a second later, as the words spill out. But his only thought is that Meredith has told Amelia what had happened and that means his girlfriend has known what she said _this entire time_ , and god, he doesn't even know what to make of that.

"What? _No._ I haven't heard anything. She hasn't said anything to me," Amelia's response is hasty, and she's waving her hands at him as if she's trying to talk him down. "I just mean that, I know all the stories must be a lot to deal with."

Now he's confused again. "The stories?"

"At the hospital. The Meredith and Derek stories. I know you didn't know him, but the stories are always there, no matter how long he's been gone." Amelia sighs heavily, folding her arms across her chest. "And yeah, they were everything to each other. They were a big love. Big and crazy and stupid. But for all that big and crazy and stupid love, they weren't always happy. All that big love meant big pain, and no offence to my brother, but he was a real ass sometimes. He couldn't make the sacrifices she needed him to make. And Meredith is stubborn, you know that. And they loved each other, but they made each other so deeply unhappy sometimes too. Not just in the way that normal couples can make each other, but that's... that's how they were."

Andrew's pretty sure he doesn't want to hear any more of this. It's not helping, even if Amelia has good intentions. He doesn't begrudge Meredith's past. He never has, but it's quite another thing to have it shoved down his throat like this.

"What's your point, Amelia?" He doesn't mean to snap, but he knows he has, and instantly feels a little regretful for it. Thankfully, Amelia takes no notice, just gives him another look.

"What I'm trying to say, _DeLuca_ , is that she loves you. She'll miss Derek sometimes, and that's okay. But you make her happier than I've seen her in a long while - and dare I say it, happier than Derek did sometimes - because you aren't... you aren't a battle. You aren't a fight. And I can tell that you _see_ her. And you aren't second best. You're just... different. And that's a _good_ thing." Amelia lets out a forced huff of air. "Yeah, I know it must be weird for you, for me to tell you this. But she loves you too. That's all I wanted to say. And she'll tell you soon, I know she will."

He must have gone mad, because all he can think to do, is echo the words. "She loves me too?"

Amelia sighs and rolls her eyes with a small chuckle. She bumps her shoulder against his shoulder, and tilts her head to give him a look of sympathy. "Well, it's completely obvious that _you_ love _her_. Has been for months now."

There's little point in him trying to deny it. So instead he shrugs, and gives Amelia a sheepish glance that says more than he ever could. But it's enough for her to understand.

"I thought you would've told her already, but I can understand your... apprehension." Amelia pushes away from the counter, and off to a point behind him. So he releases the water from the sink, and dries his hands on the nearest towel before turning around to look at her. It's weird, he thinks. After all these months of him wanting to talk to someone about this, it turns out the best person all along was Amelia. He would never have picked it, and yet he's almost grateful that she's forthright enough to broach the subject herself, just when he most needed it. Not that she could've known that.

"Look," she says, as she watches him from the other side of the kitchen counter, "just do it. Life is too short, and too complicated. And yeah, maybe she'll freak out. But maybe she won't, but at least she'll know. Although, let's be real, if she doesn't know already, she's not as smart as I thought she was," Amelia laughs to herself.

Andrew smothers a smile, decides to go all in. "Can I tell you something?" The question is out before he can stop it. 

"Sure," she agrees with a look of quizzical interest. They aren't confidantes, they both know this - but they aren't not friends either. They're somewhere in between.

"Yesterday-" he starts, before he hears footsteps on the stairs, and cuts himself off. The opportunity is lost.

"Did they get down okay?" Amelia questions as Meredith enters the kitchen. It's the fastest change of topic that Andrew's seen in a while, and he's grateful for Amelia's quick thinking nevertheless. He focuses on putting away the last remaining items on the counter as the sisters chat.

"Anyway," Amelia announces loudly, ensuring that he can't help but hear. "I'm heading up to my room. Don't do anything I wouldn't do," she teases as she leaves him and Meredith together. Her comments feel a little pointed given their conversation, but it's also completely on brand for her, so he really can't tell for sure.

Meredith snorts, and he finds it oddly charming. "Well, that doesn't rule much out," she calls out after Amelia as her sister bounds up the stairs, lead footed.

They're finally alone.

\---

The rest of the night feels like he's walking on eggshells, even though there's probably no reason for him to feel that way. Meredith seems... normal. There's no weirdness from her side, no underlying current of awkwardness or words unspoken. If anything, she's the same as always. They sit on her couch and flick through television channels before they both realise there's nothing on that either of them want to watch.

"You're staying, right?" She always asks, and he always says yes when she does. He never likes to just assume that he can, even though by now, they really should have gotten past this. But he's still conscious that her life is filled with children and commitments and sisters and her high powered job. He can't just force his way in every corner of it without her permission. 

"Of course," he replies, because really, there is no other answer. He knows he stayed away yesterday and he knows that it was still probably the right thing to do given how he was feeling at the time. But he's had time to think now, as well as... well, whatever that was, from Amelia. It's not to say that he has any more clarity than before, but he's more clear in his mind that he's stupid to think that he's going anywhere, or that in the long run, it changes how he feels about Meredith. At this point in time, he's pretty sure there's nothing he wouldn't do to be with her, to make her happy. And so this blip, this one sided emotional drama that he's been rolling around in his head, doesn't need to impact her unnecessarily. He can deal with that on his own time. In the meanwhile, he has no intention of doing that at any distance from her.

He trails after her, switching off the lights as they go. He watches the sway of her hips as he follows her up the stairs. It's a familiar pattern, one they've repeated numerous times before. This is his life now. He wouldn't trade it.

He decides to have a quick shower to wash off the day before he gets into bed. It gives him a moment to think, a moment to clear his head, outside of her sphere of influence where he knows his judgement starts to get clouded and distracted. 

The water courses over him, and he tilts his head up to face the spray. He's resolved not to mention it, the incident in the lab. He can pretend it never happened, he's decided on that. 

But he's also going to tell her how he feels. He knows that now. And he's not going to delay or overthink it this time. Amelia was right about that. Life is too short, and whatever her response is, Andrew knows it won't change how he feels about her. 

It's a relief to finally make that decision. It's the same one he made months ago, and then he'd gotten in his head about that too. And yesterday? Well, he's never really going to understand that, or probably have an answer - maybe one day years from now, he'll ask her - but as for now, he's going to let that one lie.

Meredith is already curled up under the duvet when he emerges. She's left the bedside lamp on his side on, but judging from the slow and relaxed breathing coming from her dim side of the bed, she's already asleep. He knows she works hard, leading a department, running a family, so he doesn't begrudge her that. He would've liked to talk to her tonight, to finally lay all his thoughts at her feet, but he's waited this long, so it's not like it can't wait a little longer.

\---

"Andrew." There's a hot whisper against the shell of his ear, and he's stirred from the depths of sleep. He opens one eye. It's pitch black.

"Huh? What?" He sounds as drowsy as he feels.

"Andrew," the voice says again more insistently, and he knows by deduction that it can only be her, but it is so quiet and soft that it would otherwise be hard to tell. 

He's groggy, still in some sort of dream state, where everything feels not quite real. "What's the matter? Do I have to get up? Are the kids okay?" In his befuddled brain, he's trying to think of the reasons why she'd be waking him up in the middle of the night. He takes a peek at the illuminated alarm clock on her side of the bed. 3.04am.

"Nothing, it's nothing," she sighs quietly, and he feels her move away from him, rolling out of his grasp. Oddly, this is what awakens him more than anything else. "Go back to sleep," he hears her murmur from her side of the bed.

It doesn't answer his questions, and as much as sleep is still calling to him, he feels uneasy. "Are you okay?" he whispers back. "Did you have a nightmare?"

He knows this still happens to her sometimes. Not often, but frequently enough that he knows to ask. The first time it had happened it had scared the life out of him, until Meredith explained that he might need to get used to it on occasion. She never tells him much when it happens, usually just utters something under her breath. Sometimes "plane crash" and sometimes "bomb", and then other times "car crash", and he knows that one is specifically about Derek. He's tried to ask her about them a couple of times, but he always gets a sense that they are all pieces of her past that she prefers to keep there - and that she doesn't want him to be dragged into. After a while, he stopped asking for the details, and now he just lets her fall back to sleep in his arms.

It's for this reason he's moving towards her now, reaching out across the bed until he finds her, curling his arm over her waist and across her stomach. He feels her sigh, her hand clutching to find his own. He presses a kiss into the crown of her hair, a gesture of comfort, and waits for her breathing to even out like it usually does.

Tonight she's not said anything. It's not "plane crash", or "bomb", or even that one time she said "drowning". Instead he can just feel her lying there, somehow still tense in his embrace, and he's beginning to wonder if he's missed something.

"Andrew," he hears her say again, and then she's twisting in his arms, and suddenly she's facing him. He can't really see her much in the darkness, just an outline, the shadows of her face. He then feels the press of her nose against his, the ghost of her lips graze over his own - barely a kiss, more just a touch of reassurance, checking he's there.

"Mere, what's wrong?" He's truly concerned now. He wishes he could see her properly, could read her expression. It might give him some clues as to what's happened, why she's woken him up, why she's behaving this way. Andrew's not sure she'll answer his question. But he does feel the palm of one of her hands press itself against his bare back, like the touch is grounding her, and after a moment she settles her face into the crook of his neck. Her breath is hot against his skin, but it's evening out. He lets his own mirror it, and waits.

She's silent for a good while, and he thinks, after some time, that she must be asleep again. There's no relaxation in her small frame, even in slumber, but he's grateful at least that she's okay enough to get some rest. 

There's a soft mumble against his chest. She's saying something in her sleep, it seems. He can't tell what it is, but it's quiet, not panicked, so he assumes it can't be all bad. He strokes his hand down her arm, as if to lull her back to restfulness. But he's now more alert than ever before.

"Andrew," she says again, and it's clearer this time. He makes a vague hushing sound, but instead he feels her head tilt away from him, and he realises she's still awake, not asleep at all.

"Andrew," he hears a deep inhale come from her, before a tumble of words. "We need to talk about yesterday." 

He's not sure he's hearing her right because it's so out of the blue, so out of left field. And he's only now realising that there's been no nightmare to prompt this - just her restless thoughts. Her thoughts about yesterday.

"I... I want to talk about what I said to you yesterday, in the lab."

He feels his chest tighten, because he hadn't been prepared for this. One minute he's asleep with a clear path for himself, and the next he's been woken up because Meredith's clearly had this on her mind - enough to wake him up in the middle of the night to talk about it and unburden herself.

And... from what she's saying, she remembers exactly what she said to him. And she's known for all those hours since, and has just... said nothing, behaved like it was nothing all this time. 

He's pretty sure he's now frozen on the spot, his limbs heavy and unable to move. Because maybe that was it. Maybe it was nothing to her, and that's what she's trying to tell him now. He suddenly realises he's scared of what she's about to say next. It's now even more frustrating that he can't see her properly, because at the moment she's just a disembodied whisper in the darkness, no doubt ready to relieve herself of her guilt for getting his hopes up. 

But he supposes that if she's about to let him down gently, tell him it was something she shouldn't have said, that she's not ready to say, that she may not ever be ready to say, he figures it's something she'd want to say under the safety of darkness.

She's waiting, seemingly expecting him to say something in response. But Andrew's lost for words. After a moment, he manages a response. "Oh." He feels empty, like he's got nothing left in him. All his resolve and confidence from earlier seems to have vanished in a matter of mere seconds. 

She tenses in his arms. Maybe she was hoping for more of a reaction, but he's not sure what he has left to give right now. 

"Are you upset?" It's a confusing question, and her voice sounds so small asking it. But the truth is, he doesn't know how to answer it without more context. He needs her to spell out the worry that's clearly been clinging to her, enough to have her awake at three in the morning, whispering her sins to him. 

"Upset about what?" Andrew hears the hoarseness in his own voice, like it's stretched out too thin against his vocal cords. Even now, the resignation in his tone is evident. 

The hand against his back presses harder, like she's trying to communicate something to him without having to verbalise it.

"Are you upset that it happened that way? That I said it and ran? Or that I said it at all? Because I didn't know... I didn't know how to be... be in that room with you and see it through. Does that make sense?" She shuffles again, and then her legs are pushing in between his own, like she's trying to get closer while she has the chance.

But he's getting frustrated now. It's all too cryptic and confusing, and really, he just needs to have her spit it out: that it was a mistake, that it shouldn't have happened. If anything, he's now just wishing he could go back to believing she hadn't realised she'd said it. It would be far easier for him to live with than hearing her say she didn't mean it, that she was _taking it back_. All the hope that Amelia had given him earlier in the evening has swiftly drained away.

"Meredith, please. Just say what you mean." Andrew doesn't intend for the impatience to leak into his voice, but it's blatantly there. He's at the end of his tether now. If she wants to wound him, she can - he'll take it. But that doesn't mean she has to let him bleed out slowly before she strikes the mortal blow.

His tone must get through to her, because she freezes. A second later, he feels her pull away, a sharp shove against his chest. He expects her to push him out the bed, onto the floor. That's probably what he deserves right now, but instead, a second later, her hands are back, moving up to cradle his face, and he can feel the line of her thumbs pressed up and under his jawbone. Her grasp is firm, but still caring, and if his heart wasn't hurting before, it certainly is now. 

Sure, she may not love him - not now, or maybe not ever - but he still won't walk away, he knows this. Andrew wants to have some pride, knows he should. Knows that he deserves better than a relationship with someone who may never love him back, who will, perhaps, forever be in love with her dead husband. Andrew can't compete with that. And yet, she's everything to him, and the thought almost makes him sick to his stomach, that he's in this deep. The information is nothing new. He's known for a long time that he's deeply and irretrievably in love with Meredith. But he didn't realise until right now that he'll pay any price he has to, to stay by her side. Even, it seems, his dignity.

"Andrew!" Her sharp voice cuts through the whirl in his mind, and he tries to push everything down, even though he's bubbling up and threatening to explode. Worst of all is that he still wants to kiss her. He still wants to find her mouth in the darkness, if only to cover up the words he doesn't want to hear. It won't help the situation, even if it might make him feel better for a moment.

There's an edge to her tone, and he can tell that while she's not angry, she's getting there. The realisation softens him, just a little. Enough to make him clench his jaw, be determined to hear her out, even if what she has to say will destroy him.

"Andrew," she says again after a moment, and it seems she's calmer now too. "Listen to me. Please." He feels her left thumb make a stroke against his jaw and he lets the sensation centre him. "Yesterday, I meant what I said to you. It wasn't a mistake. It wasn't something that I said accidentally. Do you understand that?"

He's trying to, desperately trying to. So he nods, numbly, letting her words sink in properly. He's scared to accept what they mean, in case he's wrong again. His mind is too busy. Before he can react further, she continues.

"I said it, and then I ran. Because I was... scared. I couldn't stand there and deal with all the... feelings that came with it. You are... you're the first man I've said that too since... well, you know." Andrew feels her hands start to shake against him, and he wants to do something, but he's too paralysed to respond. He feels the weight of what she's telling him finally hit him, and it's visceral, raw.

His mouth feels dry, but he needs to say something. "D-does this mean that... you actually...?" He trails off, unable to finish, unable to ask the question that might actually put him out of his misery. He doesn't want to tempt fate.

"... that I actually love you?" Even in the darkness, he can hear the smile in her voice. He feels her nose brush against his once more. She lets out a low laugh, and it's so exquisite, it actually takes his breath away. "Yes, Andrew. I actually love you."

They're the words he never thought he'd hear, and he's not sure he's ever heard something so perfect in all his life. He's genuinely struck dumb. Because this is not the way he thought this would ever go, and if anything, it's the best surprise he's ever had. It's the most _wonderful_ thing that could've happened.

"Oh," he breathes, because there's just so much else to say and he's not sure where to start. He needs a second to enjoy this feeling, to not absolutely fall apart with joy.

Her hands slide away from his face, and come to rest on his chest. He's embarrassed by how fast his heart must be racing, knowing that she can't help but register it through her fingertips. He needs to say something, and it takes him a moment to realise that there's only really one thing left he needs to say. He's ready to say it.

But before he can, she speaks again. "Look, Andrew. You... you don't have to say it back. I know I sprung this on you. I know that... I freaked you out yesterday. You don't have to pretend it didn't. I saw Carina going into Joe's with one of the pediatric nurses. I know you weren't with her last night. But I figured... you, you were avoiding me. That you needed a minute. And you still might. And that's... okay. If you need more time." 

She may be good at portraying calm, but Andrew can hear the underlying anxiety in her voice. And it takes him until now to realise that not only has he had it all wrong, but so has she. And that's his fault, because instead of talking to her, he's made assumptions, and he'd run too. He's avoided her, and _lied_ to her, and she'd taken it for what it seemed - him, panicking about what she said.

But mostly he wants to laugh, because it seems they're both as stupid as the other. And maybe, once they've cleared all this up, they can joke about it. But not right now, not this second. Because right now, he needs to put this right.

Andrew takes a breath, and finally speaks. "Meredith, I'm sorry I lied to you about Carina. I shouldn't have done that. But you're right. I was freaking out," he presses a quick kiss to her forehead before continuing, like it might give him courage, or at least encourage her to hear him out. "But I wasn't freaking out for the reasons you think. I... I thought that you'd just... let it slip, and that you hadn't even realised you'd done it. And _I_ was scared to talk to you about it. Because I couldn't bear to hear you say that you didn't mean it, that... you weren't there yet, or that you might... never get there."

"Oh, _Andrew_ ," she whispers, and the way she says it might almost break his heart if it wasn't already so full of everything else. "I'm there. I've been there for a while, but I didn't know how to tell you."

He can't help but let out a chuckle, before explaining himself. "Me too. I just... wasn't sure if you were ready to hear it."

It's her turn to laugh now, and her giggle practically undoes him. "So, basically, we're both idiots, huh?"

"Pretty much," he grins, even though he knows she can't really see him in the darkness. He really wishes they weren't doing this it pitch darkness, but maybe that's why they have - why they've managed to unburden themselves of these weights now, instead of earlier in the evening when they had all the opportunity in the world. 

He feels the sudden touch of her mouth against his neck, the slow creep up his jaw. Her lips are open and ready when they find his, and Andrew never thought he'd feel such relief in a kiss. They've done this so many times before, and yet it feels different this time somehow. It only takes a moment for him to roll them, press her into the bed. She pulls him closer, so his body is hard against the plains of hers, one of her legs curved around his hip. His hand slides up, underneath her thigh. It's only taken them seconds to go from zero to one hundred, and he thinks maybe they should slow down, talk, until she playfully tugs at his hair, and he's completely helpless to her.

It doesn't matter that they have to be up in a few hours. Because this is how it works with them, and this time it feels more important than ever before. It's an apology perhaps, for the pain they've caused each other. It's a lesson in why they can't not communicate, why they have to be a team in all things. 

He knows exactly how to touch her to make her arch against him, and so he does, again and again and again, until there's nothing left in the room but the sound of her gasps. He loves this woman, totally and utterly, in every single way.

"I love you too," he finally says, as she slowly falls to pieces in his arms, and he collects her up again. "I love you too."


End file.
